You Have a Son?
by Voyager Tip
Summary: An AU story where Hardcastle's son is alive and well, and surprised to learn about Milt's retirement "project".
1. Something is Wrong

Mark McCormick walked slowly from the kitchen to the Gatehouse. It was early, only 8 pm, but he'd begged off the nightly movie, saying he needed to get to bed. Hardcastle hadn't argued with him, so he figured he must look as bad as he felt.

He entered the Gatehouse, headed up to the loft and fell onto the bed, still in his clothes. Within minutes he was asleep.

Milton C. Hardcastle, retired judge and the owner of Gulls Way, watched him from the kitchen door of the main house, a worried expression on his rugged face. In the 6 months that McCormick had been working for him, he'd never acted quite like this before. Sure, they had just finished a strenuous case, bringing one very bad guy to justice, but, they had done that before. As far as he knew, nothing had happened that might affect his friend this way.

 _Friend?_ Yes. Once again that word had slipped into his thoughts as he thought about McCormick, and Hardcastle knew it was true even though he would never say it out loud. Frank had even uttered the "f" word out loud last month at their poker game, and then tried to recover by making a joke. If it was obvious to Frank, he wondered how many other people might suspect. Some of them would never believe it though, he was sure of that. Old "Hardcase" had a long standing reputation that just did not include friendship with an ex-con.

Yet, it was still true. When it had happened, and how, were questions he himself hadn't answered yet however. But, it didn't really matter, it was still true, McCormick was a friend. And what did you do when something was wrong with a friend? In Hardcastle's universe, you helped them as much as you could. But he didn't see how he could help with this. Still, it felt wrong, just to watch him retreat to the Gatehouse.

He sighed. Maybe he could talk to the kid tomorrow, there was something about him that didn't seem like it was just being tired. The most worrisome thing had been McCormick's silence during supper.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

"Hello?"

"Milt, how are you?" it was Sandy's voice on the line.

"Uh… good, good, I'm fine."

There was a pause.

"What's up?" Milt finally asked.

"The usual. Just checking that we're on for tomorrow," Sandy replied.

"Oh yeah, all set," Milt answered, not admitting that he had completely forgotten about their monthly dinner.

"Is everything okay Milt?"

"Sure, why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, you seem distracted. Is Mark bothering you?"

"No, of course not. Things are fine here."

"No one would think any less of you if you sent him away ya know," Sandy continued.

Milt sighed. This wasn't the first time Sandy had suggested that he get rid of McCormick, and the same feeling hit him again, as it always did when he spoke with Sandy. That, as strange as it may seem, he preferred spending time with the ex-con to spending it with Sandy. Of course, he would never tell either of them that.

"McCormick is doing fine Sandy," Milt said sternly.

Sandy paused, "okay Milt," he backpedaled, "so I'll see you tomorrow? Usual time?"

"Yeah, see you then."

They hung up and Milt glanced back at the Gatehouse before going into the den to watch his movie.


	2. Middle of the Night

Mark awoke suddenly, feeling suffocated. He sat up immediately and gasped for breath. _That was a strange dream_ , he thought to himself as he recovered. He sat for a few moments before laying back down, but as soon as he was flat in bed, he felt the same suffocating feeling.

Sitting back up quickly, he finally understood that it hadn't been a dream. All of a sudden, he couldn't seem to breath very easily when he was laying flat in bed.

He swung his legs onto the floor, trying to decide what to do. Sitting like this he felt okay. Well, maybe not okay, but he wasn't having any trouble breathing at the moment. He glanced at the clock beside his bed, 3:37 am.

Still in his clothes, he turned on the light, then rose and went down to the living room. He would sit in the recliner and try to think about what he should do.

He felt more weary than sick, and he could admit that he had no energy. He had felt very weary last evening. In fact, all day yesterday, he hadn't had much energy. He thought that maybe it started just after he'd been knocked off the dock and landed in the water, the famous James Buchanan Smith on top of him, trying very hard to drown him. Hardcastle had finally pulled him off, leaving Mark coughing and sputtering in the waist high water. Once the coughing was over, he'd managed to wade back to the beach.

He had recovered quickly, and they had given their statements to the police right away. All that had been before noon, and the rest of the day had been spent in yard work, catching up on the mowing that had been neglected during the case.

He reclined the chair a bit and closed his eyes.

H&M

Milt Hardcastle glanced at the clock again, 4:10 am. He hadn't slept well. This often happened when something was on his mind, and this night, his mind had been on McCormick. He had a vague feeling that something was wrong, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. Finally, he got up and walked to the guest room across the hall so he could check the Gatehouse.

"I knew it," he mumbled when he saw lights on both upstairs and down. With sudden vigor, he marched to his room and began to dress.

H&M

Hardcastle knocked twice, then used his key to open the door, "hey McCormick?" he called. When there was no immediate answer, he entered and closed the door behind him. The sight that met his eyes made him smile. Why was the kid sleeping in the chair? He cleared his throat loudly.

"Huh?" Mark murmured.

"What's goin on kiddo?" Hardcastle asked.

Mark opened his eyes and glanced around, his gaze falling on the clock on the mantle. "What're you doing here at 4 am?" he asked.

There was a pause, "well, I saw your light and just wondered why you were up?"

"I wasn't up," Mark said with a yawn, "I was sleeping."

"Why're you sleeping in the chair?"

Mark glanced around nervously. He'd been helping Hardcastle for just about 6 months now, and he knew how the judge felt about weakness. He hadn't been sick since he'd moved in and he didn't really want to admit he was sick now. But, on the other hand, he was a bit concerned about his breathing...after all, breathing was pretty important.

He decided to stand up and move around, to try to figure out if the breathing was any better. So, he righted the recliner and stood up. So far, so good.

"You didn't answer me," Milt asked again as he watched him rise.

Mark took a few tentative steps toward the mantle and stood leaning against it, aware of his breathing but not in any distress.

"I guess I was tired and I just sat down and decided to fall asleep," he lied.

"You went upstairs first, then came down to sleep in the chair? That doesn't make sense, even for you McCormick."

Mark took a breath to answer, and a congested, violent cough caused him to double over.

The judge was beside him in an instant, "sit," he ordered, and Mark sat where the strong arm on his shoulder pushed him.

Hardcastle kept his hand on Mark's shoulder as the spasm subsided. "You're gonna need to see a doctor for that…. couldn't lay down huh?"

Mark shook his head, afraid that talking would start another coughing jag.

"Why didn't ya just tell me?" Hardcastle growled.

There was silence while Mark settled his breathing.

"You aren't exactly into illness Hardcase," Mark said quietly.

"Oh for pity's sake!" the judge yelled, "you've gotta be the stupidest person I've ever met. It sounds like you've got pneumonia McCormick!"

"I don't have pneumonia judge, it's just a little cough."

Hardcastle shook his head. "Little cough huh? I should take you to the ER."

"No way judge," was the vehement response.

"If you can't lay down, you need to be seen by someone…. I'm calling Charlie at 8 am, as soon as his office opens… and no complaints from you," he finished, pointing to the ex-con.

"Who's Charlie?"


	3. A Day With Charlie

The next 4 hours were odd ones. That was the only way Mark could think to classify them. Hardcastle settled down on the couch in the Gatehouse after setting the clock for 8 am, and they both dozed until the alarm sounded.

"He'll see you at 10 kiddo," Hardcastle announced at 8:05 that morning.

"Okay."

The quiet answer was a bit unsettling. Hardcastle wasn't sure if it was because McCormick had realized that argument wouldn't get him anywhere, or whether he felt worse and actually wanted to get checked out. Either way, at least Milt felt like he was doing something for the kid, who had hardly budged out of the chair.

H&M

"Judge Hardcastle, you can go in now," said the pretty medical assistant.

Hardcastle stood up and walked into the examination room.

"So, what's the verdict Charlie?" he asked, as his eyes fell on McCormick, reclined back on the exam table, his head and chest up 45 degrees and an IV hung above his head.

"Pneumonia, but he refuses to go to the hospital."

"McCormick, why not?" Hardcastle growled.

Mark answered in a quiet voice. "I just don't want to be in a hospital unless there's no other way."

"You've got pneumonia for pity's sake!"

Charlie held up his hand, "we've already discussed it Milt. I can treat him here today, as long as he follows instructions at home tonight and tomorrow," Charlie broke in. "I've already started him on IV antibiotics, and I'll keep him here for a few doses. If he improves, I'll let him go home and continue taking them in pill form. If he doesn't improve, then I'm sending him to the hospital, and no argument."

"Is that safe?" the worried tone struck a chord with Charlie, and he turned toward his old friend. The concern he saw in those blue eyes warmed his heart. It seemed that McCormick had become more than just an employee, as he'd been previously described.

"As long as someone stays with him, yes, it should be safe."

H&M

So, Charlie had a more comfortable chair and some magazines brought in from the waiting room for Hardcastle, while Mark lay quietly as the antibiotic doses ran through the IV.

As the judge thumbed through the journals, his gaze wandered frequently to the ex-con. McCormick was quiet, an obvious sign that he felt worse than he would admit. _When did I figure that out about him?_ Milt thought.

"How ya doin kiddo?" the judge asked after the second antibiotic was finished.

"Not too..," Mark began, but his answer was punctuated by a deep, congested cough that left him breathless. After a few seconds of quiet, he continued, "...bad."

"You okay?" a nurse stepped into the room and slipped a sensor onto his finger.

Mark nodded as the judge leaned around the nurse to read the number on the device.

"Alright," she said after checking Mark's pulse rate, "just relax," and she put a thermometer into his mouth.

"How is it?" Hardcastle asked.

"101"

"Hmmm" Hardcastle grunted.

"Better than it was," she answered.


	4. A Lazy Afternoon

They stayed at Charlie's office until finally the doctor was satisfied that McCormick had improved enough to go home, with instructions to go to the ER if he felt worse. The judge got his prescriptions filled while the last dose of IV antibiotic was running in.

"Thanks doc," McCormick said as they left, "I really owe you one for this."

"Just behave yourself," Charlie answered with a twinkle in his eye. "And Milt?" he paused for effect as he caught Hardcastle's eye, "he needs to take it real easy until the fever is down and he can lay flat in bed, okay?"

The judge nodded and turned to follow McCormick out to the truck, "you hear that McCormick? You gotta do what I say!"

"That's not the way.." a coughing jag punctuated his comment.."I heard it."

"Will ya just relax!"

Mark walked slowly to the truck and was surprised when the door opened before his hand touched it. He looked at Hardcastle.

"Judge, I can.." another coughing jag, not as severe as before, "open the door," he told him.

"Just shut up and get in, will ya?"

Mark climbed into the truck, surprised when Hardcastle closed the door for him. The judge had never offered to help him with anything before. This new side of Hardcastle was a surprise. He settled into the seat and coughed deeply several times as the judge climbed in the driver's side.

"Home James," he quipped.

"You hungry kiddo?"

"Yeah, a little, I guess we missed lunch."

So they picked up some burgers and fries on the way home, but when they entered the house, McCormick was surprised when the judge immediately pointed to the recliner in the den and steered McCormick toward it.

"I can sit at the table to eat judge," he told him.

"You're gonna do things my way McCormick, now sit down and rest," Hardcastle ordered.

Mark could admit he was tired, and sat back without further comment.

The next thing he knew, a tray table was beside the recliner and the food and a large glass of water was placed in reach.

"Thanks," Mark said, wonderingly. He couldn't remember ever being treated with this much consideration, at least, not since his mother died..

"Drink this, it's supposed to make you cough all that stuff up out of your lungs," the liquid medicine appeared at the same time as the order to drink it. Mark swallowed it down and then took a long drink of water to get the taste out of his mouth.

Hardcastle expected an argument as he turned to leave, and when he didn't get it, he took a step back and looked at the kid. He'd just put the water down and now his eyes were closed. Very disconcerting, especially considering that they hadn't eaten lunch and it was 3 pm. The judge was starving, but all McCormick was doing was sitting there with his eyes closed.

Hardcastle sat at his desk and began to eat, keeping an eye on the ex-con. But it was only a short time later, that the eyes opened and the burger and fries slowly started to disappear.

They spent a very quiet afternoon, with Hardcastle offering Mark a drink every hour or so, and giving him the antibiotic pills at 6 pm.

H&M

"What do you think you want for supper kiddo?" the judge asked after the pills had been taken.

"Do we have any soup?"

"Sure, chicken soup okay?"

"That sounds perfect judge."

The doorbell surprised them both, and Hardcastle got up to answer it.

"Hi Milt," Sandy greeted him as he entered carrying a bottle of wine.

In the recliner chair, Mark cringed, then quickly realized it was Tuesday.

"Sandy!" Milt replied, suddenly aware that he had completely forgotten about their monthly supper.


	5. Sandy

"Is something wrong?" Sandy asked uncertainly, staring at Milt's somewhat disheveled appearance and hesitant greeting.

"Uh… no, … well yeah. I'm really sorry I didn't call…. things have been a little crazy today... I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight."

"Cancel? Milt, in 18 years you've never cancelled. What's going on?" He leaned forward to look into the den. Mark's head was visible just above the back of the chair.

"Yeah, I know…"

"Mark's in some kind of trouble, isn't he," Sandy continued with a knowing grin. "I warned you about him…"

"That's not it!" Hardcastle answered loudly, giving Sandy a scowl that spoke volumes to the young man.

Mark closed his eyes, the words stinging more than he expected. He should stand up to face him, but, decided to let the judge handle it. It didn't seem that Sandy would care about anything he said anyway.

Sandy turned back to the judge and bit his tongue, considering what to say. He shook his head with a scowl and motioned to the kitchen, "can we…".

It was evident that he wanted to talk in private so Milt led him into the kitchen.

H&M

"He's taking advantage of you Milt," were Sandy's first words. "Whatever's wrong, I don't believe it! It's a scam! He's faking! Why can't you see that!"

"Sandy, that's enough. Give it a rest. There's nothing for you to believe or disbelieve," Hardcastle said sternly.

"I bet he's got you making supper for him too."

Milt paused.

"I can't believe it! This is crazy! What kind of hold does he have on y…"

"We're not talking about this any more Sandy!" The statement was firm and left no room for argument. "There is nothing to discuss!"

"What's wrong with him then?"

Milt Hardcastle had had enough, what was wrong was McCormick's business, not Sandy's.

"I think you've said enough Sandy. It's time to leave," this time the voice was low and cold and angry.

Sandy froze. He'd never heard that tone before, and he quickly realized he was being dismissed. After all they'd been through together, Milt was sending him away. It was all because of that convict, McCormick. The realization cut through him, and all the carefully concealed jealousy he felt for McCormick started to seep out.

 _Why would he take his side against me?_ he thought to himself. _I've done everything he's ever asked. I went to college for him… I became a cop for him! Mark makes fun of him, argues and doesn't even do the chores he assigns half the time…._ _It's not fair!_

 _It's just not fair!_

He slammed the door on his way out.


	6. The Call

Sandy pulled away from the house faster than he'd intended. He didn't want Milt to see that he was still upset, but as soon as his foot hit the gas pedal, he seemed to lose control and he was gone. He drove around for close to an hour before heading home. In the past 18 years, they'd only missed one monthly dinner, the week Milt's wife had died.

It was all because of that ex con, that felon Milt had taken in. Milt had changed. Somehow, McCormick had figured out how to take advantage of him, and now, Milt was treating Mark with the same kind of consideration he reserved for Sandy and Tommy, and that wasn't right. Sandy didn't know what McCormick had done to Milt, but as he drove home, he vowed to put a stop to it. Maybe Milt was becoming a bit confused, he was more than 65 years old after all. Maybe McCormick just came along at a time when he was starting to slip. A con man like McCormick would see a good deal and take advantage of it for as long as he could.

Sandy pulled into his parking space and stopped. He knew that he couldn't confront Milt with something like this, but he also knew someone who could.

H&M

Thomas Hardcastle rolled over in bed and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Tommy? You okay? It's only 9 o'clock and you sound like I just woke you up?"

"Hey Sandy!" the voice was much brighter, "yeah, jet lag, I'm trying to catch up."

"Where were you this time?"

"Turkey, then United Arab Emirates."

"When you said they wanted you to travel in this job I never thought it would be like that!"

"So, what's up?"

"Well," Sandy paused, "actually I decided to call you about your dad."

Tommy's expression became serious, "he okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah… well, maybe not…. I'm not sure."

"Talk to me."

H&M

Tommy Hardcastle listened attentively as Sandy explained how his father was chasing down criminals with an ex-con who was allowed to live in the Gatehouse, and how this felon was taking advantage of his father.

"I tried telling him I thought McCormick was manipulating him, but he got mad, you know how he is. I can't really do any more than that. There's a lot of money in that estate, I just think he might get taken to the cleaners."

"Okay Sandy, thanks. I'll look into it, maybe come down for a visit."

"Thanks Tommy, give me a call when you're here and we can get together."

"Okay, yeah, so long."

Tommy hung up the phone and lay staring at the ceiling, trying to remember the last conversation he'd had with his father. It had been about a month ago, right after he'd gotten back from Istanbul the last time. It was a short conversation, just to check in, and everything had seemed fine. He'd been sorry to miss Christmas of course, but his father understood that when your boss gave you an important account like an international construction firm, you had to go when and where you were needed. And not everyone in the world celebrated Christmas.


	7. Tommy

Mark cringed when the door slammed. He hoped Hardcastle wouldn't be too mad at him, but he prepared for the anger anyway. To his surprise, there was no anger. All he heard were the clinking of pots and pans and the whir of the electric can opener. It seemed that the old coot was actually making him soup after all.

"I can't believe this," Mark whispered to himself.

The chicken soup was produced and eaten, and after a trip to the bathroom, Mark finally spoke.

"Mind if I just sleep right here tonight?" he asked.

Hardcastle looked at McCormick, curled up in the recliner, eyelids drooping.

"You don't wanna try to lay down?"

"Not really. I just wanna sleep," he paused, then in an unusually apologetic tone he continued, "I'm sure I'll be better by tomorrow judge."

While he spoke, Hardcastle had been walking back to the hall. "Ah, don't worry about it kiddo," Hardcastle replied as he pulled a quilt from the hall closet and set about covering the ex-con.

H&M

When the phone rang much later, the TV volume was very soft and Mark was sound asleep. Milt hurried into the kitchen to answer it.

"Tommy? It's great to hear your voice," Milt said as he closed the door to the kitchen and moved into the corner so his voice wouldn't disturb Mark.

"Yeah, things are great here. How're you?"

The conversation continued back and forth for several minutes, until finally Milt ended it.

"That's great Tommy, I'm looking forward to it," and they hung up.

H&M

Tommy Hardcastle hung up the phone. His dad had sounded fine, maybe even better somehow than he had the last time they had spoken. It was hard to think that something was wrong, but still, Sandy had been there, and there was nothing like being there in person. That was why he would free up his calendar next week to make a trip down to visit. Something was a bit different, he could tell that from the short conversation, and he had noticed it around Christmas too, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, even though his father hid it quite well, he had been lonely and unhappy for a long time. After Tommy's mother had died, his father had never really recovered. Oh, he'd been able to get to work on time, and maintain a few friendships, but it seemed that he'd lost the ability to be happy. If he seemed a bit happier now, how could that be a bad thing?


	8. Next Day

Tommy leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He'd done a good job on the briefs and his boss had just told him so. International legal affairs were complex, but when you got something right, it felt great. So, on the heels of his success, he'd arranged some time off to visit his dad.

He reached for the phone and dialed another number he knew very well.

"Frank Harper," answered the familiar voice.

"Hey Frank, it's Tom Hardcastle."

"Tommy, great to hear from you. What's up?"

"Well, I heard that after my dad retired, he started going after some of the criminals who slipped through the cracks… is that right?"

Frank paused, he wasn't sure how much Milt had told Tommy, or how much he wanted Tommy to know.

The pause told Tom what he wanted to know.

"I know he is Frank. What I want to know is…. is he really working with an ex-con?"

Frank sighed. "Yes."

"Is my dad okay Frank? I mean, is he acting normal?"

"Normal? What do you mean?"

"Well, Sandy seems to think this felon is conning him…. you know dad, nobody's gonna pull the wool over his eyes, unless he's …." Tom couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Tommy, your father is as normal as he's ever been. He and McCormick have brought down a lot of dangerous criminals. He's really been the talk of the precinct. He even brought down Joe Cadillac, ... they've had a great run."

"What do you think of this ex-con, McCormick?"

"Mark is a big help to your dad. They work together and it seems to be a great partnership. Course, it's only been about 6 months, but, no, I don't think anything's wrong."

"Okay Frank, thanks. And, uh, do you think we could keep this conversation just between us?"

"Sure Tommy, no problem."

H&M

 _A great partnership? With an ex-con?_ It seemed hard to believe. But, Frank's opinion seemed to give some credibility to Tommy's impression that his dad had seemed happier than the last time they'd spoken. Come to think of it, over the past few months his father really had seemed to be more like his old self.

Then again, Sandy had been a very close friend for a long time. He knew Tommy's dad very well. He might be able to pick up on subtle problems better than Frank Harper would.

Tommy shook his head. "Well, it's a good thing I could get the time off next week," he whispered to himself.


	9. Recovery

Mark slept in the recliner that night, but by the next afternoon, he'd moved to Sarah's old room for a nap, lying flat in a real bed. Milt kept a close eye on him, giving him the antibiotic every 4 hours as ordered by Charlie, and generally hovering enough to ensure that Mark drank lots of liquids and at least tried to eat.

For his part, Mark watched with amusement, the contrast between Hardcastle's grumbling about the chores that weren't getting done and the obvious concern he had for his resident ex-con. While anyone would've given him time away from the chores and a chance to rest, Mark found it very hard to believe that the average employer or parole officer would be setting timers so his medicine would be taken on time, or making sure that his water glass was always full of cool water. And Hardcastle was never far away either. Oh, he would say he'd be working on something in another part of the house, but he managed to be passing through whatever room Mark was occupying on a fairly frequent basis.

Within a few days, Mark felt completely normal, and was back to doing some light chores. Charlie finally cleared him after a week, and that was when Hardcastle gave him the news.

H&M

McCormick stood behind the backboard of the basketball court, under his bedroom window and clipped the hedge along with the beat of the music that blasted out of his bedroom window.

"Hey?" he complained loudly when the music was turned down.

Hardcastle leaned out the window of the gatehouse, "we've got neighbors ya know."

"Don't I have any privacy? You think you can just walk in there any time?"

"You'll have privacy as long as you don't give me a reason to go into the Gatehouse, hotshot."

McCormick's frown slid sideways as Hardcastle appeared beside him.

"It's 11 am on a Saturday morning judge, I guarantee your neighbors won't make a fuss. If this isn't a time I can play loud music, then there never will be."

"On the nose," Hardcastle returned, touching his.

"Give me a break! You're saying I can never point my speakers outside again?"

"Now you're cookin."

"Un-friggin believable judge."

Hardcastle smiled a fake smile.

"I'd love to stand out here and talk about this all day long kiddo, but I've got something to tell you."

"What's that?" Mark answered, turning back to finish clipping the hedges.

"We're going to have a house guest."

"Not Sandy again!"

Milt smiled and then chuckled, "no not him again." Sandy had stayed at Gull's Way for a few days last month while some water damage in his apartment was being repaired. Neither man had enjoyed the visit.

McCormick looked at the judge and furrowed his brow. "Who then?"

"My son," Hardcastle said over his shoulder as he headed back toward the main house.

McCormick's jaw dropped open. "You have a son?" he whispered.


	10. Questions

"I don't know why you're so surprised McCormick, I was married for over 20 years." Hardcastle said as he passed the potato salad to his partner.

McCormick stared at Hardcastle, trying to sort out his feelings. "I guess I never thought of it," he said uncertainly. " _And how do I fit in now?"_ he thought.

"Well, it's true, and you'll get to meet him tomorrow."

"Do I get to know his name?"

"It's Thomas… Tom."

"Where does he live? Why didn't you ever mention him? Where was he at Christmas? Where's he been?" Mark asked worriedly.

Hardcastle sighed, he could see the worry in his newest rehabilitation project as he asked the questions. He hadn't thought that McCormick would be nervous about meeting Tom, there was no reason for him to feel threatened. Nothing was going to interfere with their arrangement, he thought the kid would know that. After all, they had done some amazing things together, and Mark had proven himself in many ways. Not only could he handle himself in dangerous situations, but he could also be trusted.

Of course, Hardcastle had never exactly told Mark that he thought so highly of him.

The idea had crystallized early in their partnership, when Jersey Joe Bieber almost had him killed along with Tina Grey out in the desert. Milt still had a bit of a hard time putting that one behind him and had finally admitted to himself that McCormick was something special. He'd been reminded of that many times again over the past 6 months. Maybe Tommy's visit would be a good excuse to take a week off, so he could sort out his feelings about the kid a bit more.

They had only been working together for 6 months, and there was no way that Hardcastle would give him any kind of compliment yet. Still, it had never occurred to him that Mark might feel worried about Tom's visit.

"He's an attorney. He lives in Seattle. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," Mark returned quickly, "what would I be worried about?"

"Good, now why don't you do some grocery shopping after lunch, we'll have an extra person to feed for a week."

Mark made a hasty exit and breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the kitchen. He wondered what the week would bring and finally smiled. It probably wouldn't bring any bullets or dangerous activities if Tom was visiting, and that was at least one silver lining to this potential storm cloud.


	11. Reflections on McCormick

Milt Hardcastle sat at his desk and nervously closed the folder he'd been studying. They had tied up all but one loose end on their most recent case against James Buchanan Smith. Sending Smith to prison had been one of Milt's top priorities since retirement. He was the biggest importer of cocaine in the country. He'd ruined countless lives by supplying cocaine to dealers on the streets of every major city in the U.S. Milt stared at the file, trying to calm the uneasy feeling in his gut.

Sure, they had captured Smith, with enough evidence to send him away for the rest of his life, but what they hadn't done was capture his son Roland. The elder Smith had tackled McCormick, knocking the wind out of him and sending him into the lake as a diversion so his son could escape, and it had worked. Milt had abandoned his pursuit of the son when he realized the father was serious about drowning McCormick.

He closed the file folder and shivered, and once again was forced to think about his feelings for the ex con. He'd been surprised at the surge of adrenaline and rage he'd felt when he saw McCormick being held under the water. His reaction had shaken him up, well, not the reaction exactly, after all, he would want to save anyone in that situation. No, it was the magnitude of his reaction that had shaken him. He'd been scared to death that Mark would be killed. And Milton C. Hardcastle didn't scare easily. He had almost caught up with the son, but changed direction and made a beeline for Mark when he realized what the elder Smith was doing.

Now, they still had to capture Roland. Normally, he would try to "stir the pot" a bit more, in order to get Roland out in the open, so he could make a mistake. But now with Tom's arrival, they would have to back off. He wondered what Roland Smith would do if he and McCormick stopped poking around.

It had been almost a year since he'd seen his son, and he'd never actually told him about his new crime fighting hobby. Most importantly, he'd never actually explained that spur of the moment visits might not be the best thing, given his current retirement project. He would definitely have to talk to Tom and explain about that. Still, he looked forward to seeing his son.

In some ways, he felt that he hadn't really talked with him since Nancy's death, and that was over 10 years ago. For some reason, he felt he could open up now, maybe make amends for his previous silence about certain things.

Though he would never admit it to McCormick, he had a feeling the kid had made that possible. McCormick had gotten to him in a way he had never expected. They had connected, and somehow, that had allowed him to feel again. He'd been surprised to learn that he and McCormick were very much alike. A lot more alike than Milt and his son were. McCormick seemed to understand him better than most people; as well as anyone really, except for Nancy of course. But, he could never tell him that, especially since he hadn't actually convinced himself that it was true.


	12. Lunch With Tom

Milt watched his son enter the baggage claim area at LAX. Tommy smiled when he saw his father and Milt smiled back and they embraced.

"You look good Tommy," Milt whispered as they separated.

Tommy searched his father's face and found only happiness. "So do you dad," he whispered back.

They stopped for lunch on the way back to Gull's Way and Tommy found that conversation was easier than he could ever remember. Lunch lasted over 3 hours as they caught up with news about Tommy's job and travels and Milt's last days of work. Finally, Milt brought up his new retirement project.

"Well, I've been going after some of the low life that slipped through the cracks," he began.

Tommy immediately sobered. "Dad, I know you're all about law and order, but you just can't take on those guys alone."

"I'm not alone, I've got McCormick," he explained.

"Who?" Tommy asked, even though he knew about the ex-con from Sandy and Frank.

"Mark McCormick. He's paroled in my custody and we work together."

Silence.

"That doesn't sound like a good idea Dad. I mean, how do you know you can trust him?"

"Don't worry about that, he's okay."

Another silence, this one much longer.

"I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that Dad. In fact, I don't think you should be working with someone like him at all."

Milt's tone became firmer, he didn't want to sound angry, especially when this visit was going so much better than any other visit over the past 10 years, but he needed to be honest with Tom. It was not Tom's place to approve or disapprove of his activities.

"Tom, believe me, McCormick is not the problem."

"There's a problem?"

"Only because I didn't have much advanced notice of your visit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tom said indignantly.

"Just that we've been working a case. We just brought in James Buchanan Smith…"

"You what?" Tom said loudly. Several patrons of the restaurant glanced their way.

"Take it easy, we got him, and he'll be going away for a long time."

"He's the biggest cocaine dealer in the country dad!" Tom whispered with intensity.

"I know, but he's going to jail. We've got an airtight case."

Silence.

"And **you** caught him?"

"Yeah," Milt answered.

"Without help from the police, just you and this convicted felon?"

Milt sighed. He recognized a lot of emotion coming from his son and wasn't sure how to deal with it except by telling him the truth.

"Look, we collaborate with the police, but a lot of times we start a case alone, okay? It's not that hard to understand."

Silence.

"You said there was a problem," Tom's voice was low and devoid of emotion.

"Yeah, well, we're just not done with the mop up."

"What do you have to mop up Dad?"

"We didn't get his son Roland, and I'm just not sure what he might do next."

"So, what... you think he'd come after you while I'm here?"

"I'm not sure, I really should've warned you about giving me more notice but, you haven't visited in so long I just didn't think of it."

"And when you say 'we', you mean you and this ex-con?"

"Yeah, McCormick."

"And with all that drug money floating around, aren't you just a little worried that some of it might find a way to this… felon...of yours? And maybe you might have a convenient accident? You think you're just gonna 'mop them up'? You and your sidekick felon?"

"Yes," Milt answered, annoyed to realize that Tommy didn't really seem to believe his story.

"Dad, you're one person… with a crook who can't be trusted for a partner… I just don't think someone like Roland Smith will care what you're doing."

"Tom, we've brought down some pretty big crooks- kidnappers, drug runners and murderers, if you'd been around, you'd know I'm not kidding, just like they do."

"And this felon has helped you?"

"Yep"

"And you trust him?"

"He's backed me up every time Tom. And from now on, you need to call him Mark. He doesn't need to hear the words ex-con or felon. He's done his time in prison, he's paid his debt, he's on parole and trying to turn his life around. And yes, I trust him."

After a long silence Milt continued.

"Now, enough about McCormick. Let's get on home."

And just like that, the tense conversation was over and they enjoyed the drive together back to Gull's Way.


	13. The Truth

McCormick put his sport coat on nervously, and glanced in the mirror while he straightened his tie. He was surprised at how nervous he felt, after all, the judge's son Tom was just another in a long line of people Hardcastle had introduced him to over the past few months.

Well, that wasn't really true, was it? Because Thomas Hardcastle wasn't just anyone. As the judge's son, his opinion would matter to the judge. If Tom didn't like Mark for any reason, he might try to convince his father to send him back to prison. That possibility, although probably remote, was on Mark's mind now, and had been since he'd learned about the visit.

Even if he didn't send him back to prison, Tom still might want his father to stop his "experiment" in rehabilitation and have Mark transferred to a more traditional parole arrangement.

Mark shook his head, surprised to realize that he didn't want his situation to change. Though he would never admit it to the judge, he found Hardcastle's strict adherence to his principles, to be a very comforting and stabilizing influence in his life. Something he had never been exposed to, had never known he lacked, but now he knew he needed.

The truth was that ending the relationship he had with Hardcastle… whatever that was…. was almost as distressing as being sent back to prison. He hadn't exactly formed the thoughts before this, but now he realized that he cared about the judge and he liked this arrangement, and as crazy as it sounded, he wanted it to continue.

Still, he wondered what the judge's son would be like, and what he would think of Mark, the ex-con who worked with his father on his files.

He sighed, not really knowing how he came to realize that Hardcastle hadn't told Tom about his crime fighting project, but also certain that he was correct. What would Tom think of it? Who would think their father would be rounding up dangerous criminals in his retirement? No wonder the judge had told him not to discuss their activities or their cases.

He sighed finally, realizing that all these thoughts weren't helping, and walked over to the main house.


	14. Dinner With Tom

McCormick entered through the kitchen door and headed for the den, thinking that he would have to meet Tom eventually, and it would be best to get it over with sooner, rather than later.

Tom was there with Hardcastle, and the curt nod he received from Tom after introductions was enough to send Mark back to the kitchen almost immediately.

It was the judge's turn to cook, but Mark decided he'd better take charge of the potatoes and vegetables while the roast cooked. Tom probably wouldn't like it if he knew they split the chores, and at this point he figured he needed something to occupy his time before dinner. After all, setting the table in the dining room would only take so long.

When it finally began, the meal was tense and the conversation stilted. Tom had either ignored him or asked pointed questions about his role, never using the words "felon" or "ex-con", but making it clear that he was "only an employee".

For his part, Hardcastle had intervened twice, telling Tom to "relax" or "calm down" when his questions got a bit heated.

McCormick had stood up to answer one question, fire in his eyes as he declared that Tom had "no right" to question his motives.

They were all thankful when the meal finally ended.

"I'll clean up judge, you two should visit." Mark said as he stood up and began to clear the dishes.

"Don't you always clean up?" Tom asked in a hostile tone.

Mark hesitated, unsure how to answer.

"Dad, you don't clean up after him… tell me you don't…"

The judge stood up and cleared his throat. "We take turns with the meals"

"But.." Tom began.

"Stop right there," Hardcastle raised his voice, "let's go in the den."

As Mark worked to clean up in the dining room, he could hear loud voices in the den.

"I'm never gonna make it through this week," he whispered to himself as he began to wash the dishes.


	15. Then Everything Changes

Roland Smith led a small group of men over the fence and into the compound. A van and driver were parked nearby, ready for their escape. Each man wore black, and carried different items. They moved quietly and used hand signals to communicate.

Two moved into position under a tree across the driveway from the front door and set a small fire, fanning the flames until they reached up and caught the lowest branches. Roland positioned himself with a clear view of the front door in the sites of his rifle. He smiled as he nodded to one of the men near the fire, who lit a stick of dynamite and tossed it into the driveway, between the door and the fire.

H&M

The explosion shook the house and McCormick made a bee-line for the den. He met the judge, shotgun in hand, just outside the den doors.

"There's a fire out front, could be a diversion, let's go out the back," the judge ordered, handing Mark a pistol. Then, turning back toward the den, he called out, "Tommy, call the police, stay in the den," he ordered loudly.

They quickly made their way through the kitchen, and once outside, Hardcastle motioned McCormick to go to the right, while he went left.

Mark walked quietly in the shadows, knowing it was likely that Roland Smith was responsible for the explosion, and would most likely be waiting in ambush. He spotted a gunman taking aim at the front door and scanned the area for others. Hardcastle had impressed upon him that these guys did not work alone, and he was sure the judge was approaching from the other side. He saw two other figures slinking away towards the gate, and briefly wondered if he should pursue them, but concern for Hardcastle kept him focused on the gunman.

A sudden rustling.

Tom on his right.

The gunman turning.

The judge's son!

Just before the air exploded with gunfire, Mark took a flying leap and pushed Tommy to the ground. The sound of sirens filled the air as Milt's shotgun blast returned the fire. Roland turned and stumbled away, one leg giving out, but he kept running with Hardcastle in pursuit. His men jumped into their van and took off down the drive just as two police cars skidded to a stop, blocking their way. In another moment the gunfire was over, and Milt lowered his gun.

As he turned back toward the house, his eyes fell on a body, and his heart pounded in his chest. Mark was lying on his back, with Tommy kneeling beside him.

Milt rushed over and dropped to his knees, taking in the scene, then he shouted at the cops, "we need an ambulance here!"

"Dad, he saved me," Tommy said in disbelief.

A blood stain on the right side of Mark's chest gurgled with each breath.

"We need to get his head up," Milt ordered, slipping his arm under Mark's neck and shoulder and pulling him up to rest against him to stay upright. All the while the gurgling continued, punctuated by deep coughing that brought up frothy blood.

"Hang on kiddo," Milt whispered as he wrapped his arms around the ex con and held him close. "It's gonna be alright, just stay still."

Tom pulled his sweatshirt over his head, hastily doubled it, and pushed it against the wound, holding it firmly. He stared at his father, speechless at the scene he was seeing. Not since his mother had died, had he seen his father express this much raw emotion. He had been so closed up within himself that Tom had thought he'd never get to see the man he'd grown up with ever again. Somehow, this ex-con had broken through the tough exterior of Milton C. Hardcastle, and, against all odds, after 10 years, his father had begun to feel again.

"He came out of nowhere and pushed me out of the line of fire," Tom whispered, shaking his head. "He didn't have to do that."

"You were supposed to stay inside! I told you to stay inside!" Milt yelled at Tommy as he leaned over McCormick, who had started to cough again.

"Judge," Mark paused to cough….

"Don't talk McCormick…"

"Not his fault," Mark forced the words out.

Another round of coughing and gurgling brought tears to both their eyes, "shh, don't talk..." he whispered.

"He's a Hardcastle," again Mark was talking, but the breaths were louder now, "had to be where the action is," Mark coughed again, bringing up frothy blood that stuck to the corners of his mouth.

Tommy stared at Mark, then his gaze met his father's, "I'm sorry," he whispered. Then, as the ambulance pulled up, he looked up and spoke quickly to the EMTs, "he was shot in the chest, sucking chest wound and his airway's getting full of blood," he conveyed what information he knew.

"Okay, we'll handle it from here," one of the EMTs answered and they raised the head of the stretcher and all worked together to lift Mark onto it.

Milt kept Mark's head and shoulders above his chest as they lifted him. But even as the medics settled him on the stretcher, Tom saw that his father never let go.

"You're going to the hospital, they're gonna fix you up kiddo, it's gonna be okay," Milt whispered in a shaking voice. Then, Tom watched him climb into the back of the ambulance, still holding on, as if he had every right to be there, and he still kept talking to McCormick.


	16. Realization

Tom stood staring at his father as the ambulance doors closed and it drove away. He looked down at his bloody hands, and wiped them on his t-shirt, then started for the house.

H&M

When Tom got to the Emergency Room, he wore a clean shirt and carried one for his father. He scanned the waiting room and saw Milt sitting in a chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He stood staring at his father for a full minute, reviewing everything he had seen and heard. What was he seeing now? It was someone who was distraught; worry and fear evident in every inch of his posture. He was seeing his father again, for the first time since his mother died.

"How is he?" he approached and finally worked up the courage to ask.

Milt looked at his son, "I didn't mean to yell at you, you didn't know what would happen. I should have told you what we've been doing before you came."

Silence.

"It's okay Dad. I was stupid. I didn't think he'd really watch out for you."

"I told you he works for me, you didn't believe me?" Milt's tone was biting.

"I just never thought it would go down that way, and when the bullets started flying," he paused, "I never in a million years thought that he'd protect me."

Silence.

Milt sighed, "I wish they'd tell me something," he whispered.

Tom sat down beside him and handed him the shirt. "Why don't you change shirts Dad, I brought a bag for that one," he said, motioning to the bloodstained shirt Milt still wore.

Hardcastle glanced down at himself, seeming to realize for the first time how much blood there was. He switched shirts obediently.

"You told me Mark was an employee."

"Yeah," Milt nodded.

"I don't think he's just an employee Dad," he said quietly.

They sat together for the next hour, until a doctor finally called them back to a conference room.

"How is he?" Milt asked as he sat where the doctor indicated.

"I'm John Taylor, the trauma doctor here. We stabilized him enough to send him to the OR upstairs. They'll remove the bullet and repair his lung tissue the best they can. He has a good chance of survival, but he's not out of the woods yet. You should go up to the surgery waiting area on the second floor. After the operation, they'll be able to tell you more."


	17. Some Questions

They sat together in another waiting room. Milt staring into space and Tom keeping an eye on his father.

"Can I ask you a question Dad?" Tom asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Sure."

"You've been taking in ex-cons off and on for almost 10 years. But this time, you're different. You've changed. He's different from the others, isn't he? You're almost like... friends."

Hardcastle sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be that way, it just happened," Milt answered, not denying it, "how could you tell?"

Tommy smiled. "I see your old self Dad. The way you were before Mom died. And," he got choked up, "that's great...amazing...and I don't care how he did it, but I'm just glad he did."

Milt stared at his son, "I hope he's okay," he whispered.

"Is there anyone you should call? Does he have any family?"

Milt smiled, "He never talks about his family, and I never asked," he paused, "some friend, eh?" He sat staring at the floor. "Nothing came up at Christmas... course I didn't tell him about you either, but," he paused, "no, I don't think he has anyone. Been on his own for a long time."

The doors swung open and a man in surgeon's garb walked over to them. "Are you here for Mark McCormick?"

Milt stood up and nodded, "how is he?"

"Well, he's stable at present. I had to remove about a third of the middle lobe of his right lung. The damage was too severe to repair. He's in the recovery room. He'll be in the ICU for a few days. Hopefully his recovery will be uneventful."

"Can I see him now, just for a minute?" Milt asked.

The doctor hesitated, "he won't look very good right now. A tube is going into his windpipe pushing air in and out of his lungs, and there are a lot of different tubes and wires attached to him. It can be very upsetting for family members," the doctor told him honestly.

"I'm a retired cop and judge. I've seen all that before. And it can't be worse than when I was holding him in the driveway before the ambulance got there."

The doctor nodded, "you're probably right, okay, I'll have the nurse bring you back for a few minutes."

After they left, Tom Hardcastle sat dejectedly, staring into space, thinking about all he had seen and heard. He had to concede that Mark McCormick must be something special, and he hadn't even given him a chance.

If he was honest, he'd have to admit that he'd felt a bit jealous when he'd heard about how well the newest ex-con was working out. Especially when he found out that Mark was helping his father bring criminals to justice, and that he was close to the same age as Tom. He had looked down on Mark, thought of him as a loser. Tom had a successful career, and the only thing McCormick had was a parole ticket.

But, Mark had been safe until he dashed out into the gunfire to save Tom's life. And then he had told his Dad that he shouldn't blame Tom for getting out into danger because he was a Hardcastle. Tom almost laughed at that and shook his head. He had the Hardcastle's pegged right, that's for sure, especially his father.


	18. Waiting

Milton Hardcastle followed the doctor back to one of the curtained areas. He entered and walked straight to Mark's side. The machines were noisy, one was pushing air in and out of his lungs, and another was beeping with every heartbeat. He reached down and took the kids hand, staring into the familiar face that was much too pale. Then he leaned down and spoke in his ear, "I'm here kiddo, you came through the surgery real good. You're gonna be okay." He reached up and slowly pushed Mark's hair off his forehead, "thanks for saving Tom," he stopped, his voice so choked up with emotion that he was unable to go on. He took a deep breath, "I'll be here when you wake up, so you won't be alone." Then he straightened up and wiped a bit of moisture from his eye and sniffed. He stared at the still figure for a few more seconds before leaving the recovery room.

H&M

"How is he?" Tom asked in a soft voice when Milt returned.

Milt just shook his head, "I don't know," he whispered in a shaky voice.

Silence.

"We have to go up to the ICU waiting room now. Third floor, come on," and Tom shepherded his father toward the elevator.

H&M

"You don't have to stay you know," Milt told his son once they were situated in the ICU waiting area. "It's gonna be a long haul and I wanna be here whenever he wakes up, so I'm just gonna camp out."

Tom stared at the man he hadn't seen since his mother died. "I can help Dad. I can bring food up so you don't have to leave until you're sure he's alright."

"I thought you didn't care much for McCormick?"

"I care about you!" Tom said quickly, then continued, "and he kinda grows on ya, ya know?"

Silence.

"I know. Well, suit yourself, but feel free to go home and take a break any time you want."

H&M

Four hours later, the intercom buzzed and a voice could be heard.

"Anyone for Mark McCormick."

Milt jumped up and pressed the button, "yes, can I see him?"

"I'll buzz you back in," the voice said and a buzzer sounded that allowed Milt to pull open the door.

She led him to McCormick's side, and he noticed that all the same tubes and gadgets seemed to be attached to the kid. "When can the tube come out of his throat?" he asked.

"The surgeon will re-evaluate him tomorrow, there's still some bleeding into his bronchi, the air tubes in his lungs, and with the tube in, we can keep them clear." she explained.

"Won't he fight the tube though, when he comes out of the anesthesia?"

"Yes, ordinarily, but we're keeping him unconscious so that won't happen."

"So then he won't know I'm here?"

"There are times he might be able to hear you, but probably not. I know it's hard, but it's really for the best. Until his airway heals a bit, it's just not safe to take the tube out."

"How often can I see him?"

"Just for a few minutes every hour or so."

Milt turned toward Mark then, determined to spend what little time they gave him with the kid, to the best effect. He reached for his hand again, "I'm back kiddo, you're doing good, just hold on and you'll be able to wake up and talk." He paused, thinking, "I don't know if you care or not, but, I think you're winning Tom over. He appreciates what you did."


	19. Waking Up

Milt sat beside McCormick, his hand on his arm. Tom stood off to the side, deep in thought. The tube had been removed from Mark's throat an hour ago, and the anesthetic drugs were being withdrawn. He would be waking up soon and it was all Milt could do to sit quietly and wait.

"Uh," a soft groan came from the bed.

Hardcastle stood up immediately and leaned over the bed railing, staring anxiously at Mark's face. His eyes were still closed, but the kid swallowed and took a breath. Then the eyes finally opened, "you awake kiddo?" Milt spoke softly as he reached for Mark's hand and squeezed it.

"Judge?"

"I'm here."

"You and Tom okay?"

Tom glanced over in surprise at that remark.

"Yeah kiddo, we're okay. You're the one in the hospital."

"Couldn't breathe...," he whispered and closed his eyes.

"Yeah, it was scary," Milt whispered. He paused before continuing, "you're gonna be okay kiddo, they got the bullet out and now you just have to heal."

"Hurts to breathe," Mark whispered weakly.

Milt pushed the call button and squeezed Mark's hand. A nurse appeared immediately. "Can he have something for pain?" Milt asked.

"I'll check," she answered and took Mark's blood pressure and glanced up at the monitors. She returned a short time later, and spoke to McCormick, "I'm giving you some medicine for the pain, just to take the edge off until the anesthesia has worn off, okay?" she said as she deftly slipped the needle into the IV tubing.

"Thanks," Hardcastle told her, keeping a firm hold on McCormick's hand all the while. He reached up and rested his other hand on Mark's forehead. "Just rest kiddo," he whispered, "just rest."

Mark closed his eyes and focused on breathing. When the pain eased up, he opened his eyes again and stared tiredly at the judge. It was too hard to talk, so he just squeezed his hand and stared for a few more minutes before he closed his eyes again.

Milt smiled when he felt Mark squeezing his hand. This was something he could do for him. He could be there. He figured that Mark hadn't had anyone to care for him in a long time. Later he would ask him where his parents were.

He knew McCormick was awake even though his eyes were closed, because of the tight grasp he had on his hand. " _Probably better not to talk kiddo, just breathe,"_ he thought, and then unbidden, the sound of his gurgling breaths as he'd held him in the driveway flashed through his mind. He'd thought he lost the kid then, didn't think he could make it to the hospital if he couldn't breathe, and his prayer had been raw and desperate. Then, it had seemed like a miracle that he'd made it to the ER. And now, he would get better, it was an incredible blessing and he bowed his head and thanked God that Mark was in his life and that he would pull through.

Several minutes later, a nurse appeared on the other side of the bed. After observing the pained expression on her patient's face and his tight grasp on the judge's hand, she spoke, "I'll give him something more for the pain now. You can stay until he's more comfortable."

Hardcastle nodded, his hand still rested on Mark's head. "Hang on kiddo," he whispered.

Mark opened his eyes and looked at Hardcastle, " _he really seems to care about me,"_ he thought. " _He could be visiting with his son, and here he is holding my hand. Thank God he's here, it's so scary when it's hard to breathe. Maybe I'm gonna die."_

"The nurse is gonna give you something more for pain, you're doing good kiddo, you're gonna get better and be as good as new. Just rest, you've got a lot of healing to do." Hardcastle's voice sounded farther away.

"I just gave you something stronger for the pain," the nurse's voice tangled with the judge's words and everything became hazy.

" _I'm not gonna die,"_ was McCormick's last thought as his grip on the judge's hand loosened.

Milt immediately opened and closed his fist, he hadn't realized that Mark had been squeezing so tightly, " _he must've been in a lot of pain,"_ he thought dejectedly, wishing there was more he could do to help. " _He was scared too"_ Milt realized, " _that's something I can help with, maybe just by being here."_

"I need you to step outside for awhile judge," said the nurse.


	20. Tom's Support

Tom was shocked by the look on his father's face when he turned away from the bed and walked to the waiting area.

"Is he alright?" he asked worriedly.

Milt sighed, "I guess. Well, they say he is, but, he's in a lot of pain, and he just looked scared. There's not much I can do to help."

Tom paused, thinking, "I'm sure that you being here helped a lot Dad." He put his hand on his father's arm and gently guided him to sit down, "a lot."

He picked up a cup of coffee from an end table, "just sit and drink Dad, and rest," he said.

After a few minutes, Tom reached over to a bag on the table, "here's a sandwich," he said, unwrapping half of it and handing to his father, "you missed a meal, you have to eat if you want to be there for Mark."

Milt slowly took the sandwich, "you've never told me what to do before."

"I bet Mark does," the comment was out before Tom realized he thought it.

His father gave half a smile, "yeah, he has … on occasion."

"Well, right now you needed to be told to eat."

"Humph," Milt answered and took a bite from the sandwich.

Tom sat back with a satisfied look on his face. After a few minutes he spoke again, "tonight, you're gonna sleep a little too," and he pointed at a recliner chair that hadn't been in the waiting room before.

"You got that?" Milt asked.

"It's what family uses when they need to stay here."

"What are you gonna do tonight?" Milt asked his son, a warm feeling he couldn't quite explain spreading through his chest.

"Well, I thought I'd leave at about 10 o'clock, go back to the house and then bring you breakfast in the morning."

"Thanks."

Tom nodded, "just take care of yourself Dad, it's gonna be a tough few days."


	21. Night

At 10 pm, Tom left and Milt settled himself in the chair. McCormick had just been given another dose of pain medication and, if his reaction was the same as earlier, he'd be asleep for about 3 hours. Milt was determined to use the time wisely, and he dozed off quickly after he closed his eyes. It was earlier than his usual bedtime, but the fear and adrenaline rushes of the day had tired him out.

At 1:30 am, one of the nurses entered the waiting room. "Judge?" she asked softly, then a bit louder, "judge?"

"What? Huh?" Hardcastle jerked awake, "is everything okay?"

"Mark's saying your name, I think you should come on back."

Hardcastle got up immediately and followed her back into the unit.

"He spiked a fever an hour ago, we took an x-ray, he has pneumonia."

Milt's stomach tightened into a knot, "he just got over pneumonia, did you know that?"

"I'm not sure if the doctor knows that, I'll tell him."

"I thought he was doing okay?"

As they walked together, the nurse explained.

"Since it hurts so much to breathe, he's not taking deep enough breaths, that causes pneumonia. We've started an antibiotic, but he really needs to be taking some deep breaths and coughing."

"That sounds like it'll hurt," Milt whispered worriedly.

"It will. I just gave him something else for pain, so now I really need him to take some deep breaths and cough."

The judge entered the familiar cubicle of the ICU and walked over to the bed. Mark's eyes were open. "Hey kiddo," he whispered, again reaching down for his hand.

"Mark," began the nurse in a no nonsense voice, "I need you to take in a deep breath and when you breath out, cough 3 times. Like this," and she demonstrated the technique by coughing into her arm. "I know it will hurt, but you need to try. I just put something for pain into the IV, but I need you to be awake to cough, so I couldn't give you too much, okay? I'll hold this pillow against your chest for support."

McCormick looked at her in shock, he'd been trying NOT to breathe very deeply since he'd been shot. The pain with each breath was almost unbearable, as was the terror that he'd start to bleed again and drown in his own blood..

"You can do it kiddo, just try one time," encouraged the judge.

Mark glanced up at him as though he was crazy. He couldn't even get enough air in to talk, how was he supposed to take a deep breath?

Hardcastle reached to his forehead, "how high is the fever?" he asked, noticing how hot he felt.

The nurse pointed to a monitor above his head. He followed her finger and saw the number, 102.

"Take a deep breath Mark," the nurse encouraged, but nothing happened.

"McCormick, you need to breath and cough right now!" Hardcastle ordered so loudly that his voice filled the room.

Mark closed his eyes, " _he's not kidding around,"_ he realized, and despite himself, he took a breath a little deeper than he wanted to and tried to cough as he exhaled. He ended the breath with an uncontrolled spasm of coughing and a moan, a bluish color around his lips and Milt's hands on his shoulders.

"Easy kiddo," the judge whispered, then watched the nurse quickly turn up the oxygen that was being given through a mask over Mark's nose and mouth.

Mark continued to cough, a reflex that spattered dried blood onto the inside of the oxygen mask as Hardcastle felt a kind of fear and panic he wasn't used to.

"It's okay," the nurse answered his unspoken question, "it's better to have that dried blood out of his lungs."

As Mark settled down, the nurse came around to Milt's side of the bed. She put a basin of cool water on the bedside table and soaked a cloth, then placed it against Mark's forehead.

"This will make him more comfortable, it's something you can do to help," she explained and offered the cloth to the judge, who took it immediately and began moistening Mark's forehead and face.

Mark lay exhausted, eyes closed, his whole focus on breathing. Every breath was painful, but the medication must be working because it seemed to be getting better. The cool water on his forehead felt wonderful, and he realized suddenly that he felt very hot. Too hot. They'd said he had a fever. He felt horrible, but the cool water felt better than anything. He opened his eyes and realized in astonishment that Hardcastle was the one putting the cool cloths on him. _This can't be happening_ , he thought, _this is crazy. Hardcastle doesn't do things like this._ Then he thought, _maybe I don't know him as well as I thought I did._

The judge pressed the cool cloth against Mark's face in a kind of trance. He'd thought the kid was out of the woods, now with the pneumonia and this fever, his condition seemed to be getting worse. He wished there was something more he could do.

"Mark?" the nurse's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Mark, open your eyes for me."

When Mark's eyes opened, Milt caught his gaze and smiled, trying to reassure the kid.

"You need to cough again, I know it's hard, but it's important," she finished.

" _I don't think I can,"_ Mark thought, " _but he's gonna make me."_

"You did good before kiddo, try it again," Milt encouraged.

The breath was a bit deeper this time, but the coughing was just as violent. Dried blood spattered the inside of the oxygen mask again, this time one of the clots was larger than the others. Again, Mark couldn't seem to stop the coughing once it began. He moaned toward the end of the spasm, tears in his eyes, his skin a dark, dusky color and a buzzing in his ears.

"Easy, that's enough," Milt's voice was tense and choked with emotion. He kept repeating the words until Mark was still and quiet and his color was back to normal. "Easy does it, you're okay." He wiped tears from his own eyes and then from McCormick's.

The nurse touched Mark's shoulder and squeezed it. "You did good, in an hour we need to try again, but for now, you can rest," she said to the patient. To the judge, she mouthed the words, "thanks" before she left. Then she pointed to the monitor overhead and Milt noticed the temperature was 101.4. Apparently the combination of the antibiotics and the deep breathing and coughing were starting to have an effect almost immediately.

Milt stared at Mark in shock, the kids eyes were closed, so he took up the cool cloth again and wiped not only his forehead, but his face, neck and arms.

Mark lay still, exhausted from the ordeal of coughing, but feeling that he could breath a bit easier. He'd felt the large clot come out of his lungs and immediately a raw area inside his chest, but realized at the same time that he could breathe a bit deeper, a bit easier. Despite how difficult it was to cough, he knew he had to continue, so he lay still, trying to save his strength for the next time. He opened his eyes when he felt the coolness on his face and stared at Hardcastle.

" _God that feels good,"_ he thought. Then, " _why is he still here?, isn't it the middle of the night?"_ Then, unbidden, another thought formed in his mind, " _I'm so glad he's here."_

Milt saw Mark's eyes open, and began to speak. "You're doing better kiddo, the fever's coming down and you got some bad stuff out of your lungs. Just rest and let us take care of you."

" _Let us take care of you,"_ the words repeated in Mark's head, through the cloudy haze of medication and fever and exhaustion, " _us...it was hard to believe, the judge wanted to help take care of him. It had to be a mistake."_ He couldn't seem to understand what was happening, but he was still thankful for the cool cloth, now on his neck.

He stared at Hardcastle, dazed and half asleep, trying to make sense of his being there.

"Close your eyes and try to sleep McCormick," the judge ordered, as he pushed the curly hair off his forehead with the cool wet cloth.

When Mark heard his last name, he obediently closed his eyes and gave in to the confusion and exhaustion.

H&M

The rest of the night passed. Milt was allowed to stay, and every hour, the deep breathing and coughing exercises brought a few more clots of blood out of his lungs. By morning, they were both exhausted, but Mark's fever was much lower and he was able to sleep more comfortably between coughing exercises.

"Judge Hardcastle?" the nurse whispered in Milt's ear as she touched his arm.

"Huh? Oh.." the judge jerked awake from where he'd been dozing in the chair beside the bed.

"There's a visitor in the waiting room to see you," she whispered.

Milt rubbed his eyes to clear the cobwebs. "How is he?" he asked, standing up beside the bed so he could get a better look at McCormick.

"Much better. His fever's been down for an hour now," she continued.

"That's great, ah, I'll go out and see who's here," he said as he took one more look at the kid, noticing how much his color had improved and how easily he was breathing.


	22. Morning

"Dad, sit down here," was Tommy's first response when he saw his father.

Milt complied, thinking he must not be looking his best at the moment.

"Here's breakfast," Tom said, placing an egg sandwich into his father's hand.

Suddenly, the judge realized he was hungry, and attacked the sandwich heartily.

"That really hit the spot Champ," he told his son after finishing the coffee.

Tom shook his head. "You wanna tell me what's been going on since I left?"

The story was told briefly, and Milt couldn't hide his relief that things seemed to be improving.

"I'm glad things are looking up," Tom said, then hesitated. "Dad, I was obviously wrong about Mark. I never should've told you to get rid of him."

Milt smiled. "You were just tryin to look out for me."

"Sandy was wrong about him."

"Sandy? What does Sandy have to do with anything?"

"He called me and said he was worried that Mark was taking advantage of you, so I…"

"It figures," Milt interrupted, "listen, Sandy is jealous of McCormick. It's as simple as that."

After a pause, Tom replied softly, "yeah, I can see how he would be. I was a little jealous myself."

Milt stared at his son in surprise, then placed his hand on his shoulder.

"No one could ever…." he began.

"It's okay dad, I know…"

"You're my son Tommy, nothing could ever change that…"

"I'm sorry dad…"

"I'm so proud of you…"

Silence.

"I don't think you've ever said that before," the lump in Tommy's throat prevented him from continuing.

"There's a lot I've never said to you… I wish I had son."

"Well, we've got the rest of our lives dad," Tommy answered and smiled, his heart lighter than he could ever remember it being. "You're more open now than I ever remember."

"Yeah, so I've been told by a few people. They all seem to think McCormick wore me down."

Tommy laughed, "are they right?"

Milt nodded, "yeah, I guess so. He did wear me down, that's for sure. As to what that means, I don't really know."

"I do… you'll figure it out dad."


	23. Clearing the Air

"Hi Mark," Tommy said as he knocked and entered the room. It had been 3 days since the operation.

"Where's the judge?" McCormick asked, noticing he was alone.

"I convinced him to take a break, that I could hold down the fort here for a few hours," Tom answered.

"He needed a break, that's good, he doesn't know when to stop," Mark replied. "You know, you don't have to stay, really, I'm fine, and I'm sure you could find something better to do." Then Mark smiled conspiratorially, "I won't tell him."

"You're fine?"

"Yeah."

"You're as bad as he is! Give me a break!" Tom complained and shook his head.

"I AM fine!" Mark returned loudly, and started to cough.

"Uh huh."

After Mark's coughing stopped, Tommy continued. "I'm here because I want to be. And I wanted to talk to you alone."

McCormick's expression hardened, here it was. Tom was going to tell him to leave the judge's custody, as if he could make that happen, even if he wanted to.

"What's wrong Mark?" Tom asked, noticing the change in expression. "Do you need a nurse?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I'm just waiting to hear what kind of anvil you're going to drop on me, that's all. But, just so you know, your father's in charge, I can't take myself out of his judicial stay, so maybe you should talk to him."

"Anvil?"

"Yeah, as in something hard that falls out of the sky unexpectedly and flattens the coyote."

"Your car?" Tommy asked in obvious confusion.

Mark sighed in exasperation, "no... you know... the roadrunner and the coyote? And the anvils?" Mark tried to explain, then sighed. "Forget it. What did you want to talk about that you couldn't say in front of the judge?"

"You think it's something bad, don't you?"

"What else would it be?"

Tommy paused, amazed that Mark thought he could wield such power over his life. He shook his head, "I just wanted to thank you. I don't know how you did it, but, my Dad hasn't been this happy, or this engaged in life, since my Mom died. It's been ten years since I've talked, I mean really talked, to my dad…" emotion choked him and he stopped.

Mark's jaw dropped and he found that he didn't know what to say.

Tom continued, "the past few days here have been the best time we've spent in a long, long time. And it's because of you."

"Well, getting shot can make people come out of their shell," Mark joked.

Tommy shook his head. "I noticed the difference the minute I got here Mark, and on the phone the last few times I called. It had nothing to do with getting shot so you can cut out the jokes. And what got you shot is probably the reason Dad feels the way he does about you. I bet you've done some crazy things that have saved HIS life in the past few months."

He paused and sighed. "At first, I admit, I was a little jealous. He seemed to act more like himself with you than he has with me for a long, long time."

Silence.

"And you do know," Tom continued, "that those anvils never really hurt the coyote, he always came back."

"Yeah, but that's a cartoon, and in my life, there have been some real anvils and sometimes they seem to fall from the sky for no reason."

"Well, I have a feeling that won't be happening so much any more," Tommy said.

Silence again.

"Can I ask you something Tom?"

"Sure."

"Why did you move to Seattle? I mean, you grew up here, your father's here, you're an attorney and he has so many contacts, why go there?"

Tom shook his head and briefly looked away. "No wonder you wore him down," he whispered.

Mark waited patiently.

Tom sighed and gazed toward the window, gathering his thoughts. "I guess you have a right to know." He paused, "well, first, I love my Dad. He's a great man, a great father. But, the truth is, this is his town. Heck, to some extent, this is his state. Have you noticed that he knows just about everybody?"

"Yeah, he's kind of a judicial Jerry Lewis," Mark agreed.

"Can you imagine trying to be your own man in this town? Under his shadow? With his name?" He paused, "well, I couldn't. I'd always be Milt Hardcastle's son. After the Marines, and college, I just wanted to start out on my own. Make something of myself without the great Milton C. Hardcastle's reputation looming over me. Can you understand that?"

Mark nodded, "I guess I never thought how hard it would be to be the son of someone like him."

"I imagine it's hard to be his friend, too," Tom acknowledged.

"Sometimes," Mark began, then stopped himself, embarrassed.

"I know you're friends, and that's okay. Weird, but okay… especially because you're my age, not his.. He needs a friend, he needs you, even if he's too stubborn to ever admit it."

"Thanks Tom."


	24. Back Home

"You should put him in Sarah's room, you said she wouldn't be back soon, maybe not at all," Tom counseled as they walked from the truck into the house late in the evening, four days later.

"Think so, huh?" Milt asked his son, secretly pleased to hear him advocating for McCormick.

"Well, you know he won't be able to handle the stairs at first."

"Not to hear him tell it," Milt laughed.

"That's why you have to put your foot down and make him stay on this floor," Tommy said seriously.

"You're right,' Milt conceded. "So, you're heading back to Seattle tomorrow," it was a statement, since Milt knew the answer.

Tommy looked at his father, "actually, I just arranged to take a few personal days at the end of this vacation, I'd like to stick around a while more."

"That'd be nice."

H&M

Four days later they settled McCormick into Sarah's apartment, just off the kitchen.

"I'll have lunch made in a few minutes," Tom announced as he left Mark and Milt alone. Mark was sitting in a chair beside the bed.

"You sure you're okay in that chair?" Hardcastle asked him gruffly.

"Yeah, it's actually easier to breathe sitting up than lying down," Mark began, then after a pause he continued, "But I guess you already knew that, cuz you holding me up is the only reason I didn't buy it right there in the driveway."

Silence.

"Yeah." the judge whispered, "I knew."

McCormick sat back and smiled contentedly. He knew the judge would never acknowledge all that had been said and felt while he lay struggling to breathe after being shot, and then at the hospital, but it didn't matter. Hardcastle had been there for him, doing whatever it took, for however long, to make sure he was okay. And then he'd brought him home, into the main house to recover. Those actions spoke volumes about the judge's feelings for him and meant more to him than all the fancy words that could've been said.

THE END

Author's Note- Thanks for reading my story! What did you think of the short, choppy sentences just before Mark pushed Tom out of the way of the bullets? I wanted to convey that it happened really fast. That Mark took in about a thousand facts and observations and didn't have much time to wait. That's why I wrote it that way. Is that the way the reader perceived it? Thanks for any comments! ~ VT


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